Acceptance
by Silential
Summary: Prompt: Rumpelstiltskin is self-conscious of the weight he's put on recently. Belle not only loves it, but wants to work through the issues that come with it.
1. Chapter 1

(A/N: This is based off a kink meme prompt I found and wanted to make into a realistic fic. I wrote this mid-April before Neverland was even mentioned, so this takes place nebulously after Belle's memories return and everyone is still in Storybrooke.)

* * *

If she really wanted to be honest, his recent preoccupation was mostly her fault anyway – or perhaps not hers. Lacey's.

As Lacey she'd made disparaging comments, the gross exaggerations fired from her lips meant to wound for no better reason than that she liked to push his buttons. The larger, the redder, the more pain they looked to produce, the better. Lying awake at night, even weeks later, Belle remembered them like a bad dream.

_Looking a little flabby there, Gold. I'd try the salad, if I were you. Another hamburger, really? The blubber on your arms could already feed a small country as it is. Let's get a table this time. I'm not sure how much longer your gut will fit in the booth._

And those were only the ones she could _remember_.

Besides that, she would recall with a shudder, they didn't even take into account the sneers and laughter, the cruel mocking glare whenever he tried to protest the unfair comments. It relieved her to think that they'd never made love like that, too busy with reunions and family drama, because she couldn't even begin to imagine the destruction she might have wrought. The damage done during those few dates was enough, damage that after a while he'd stopped refuting and started resignedly ignoring.

When her true memories had finally clicked into place, no words could sum up the depth of her regret. Nights were spent reassuring and apologizing, holding him close on the couch, safe in her – not Lacey's – arms. Rum had blessed her with forgiveness and Belle was sure he meant it. She just wasn't sure he forgave himself, and as the weeks passed, it became clear that her comments had stuck.

And perhaps to make matters worse, he was even heavier now.

It really wasn't all that surprising. The tumultuous affairs of Storybrooke brought nothing if not stress, a state that ultimately, she knew from the biochemistry book she'd picked up one day, increased cortisol, which in turn did a number on the waistline. And it was true; his middle was taking the brunt of the weight, no matter how much he tried to hide it with a waistcoat. The fine fabric tended to ride up to expose the roll peeking out from above his trousers, the beginning of what might one day be generous lovehandles testing the sides of his waistband when he sat down. Everything was broader, sturdier as she might say, but she knew those weren't the words that repeated ad nauseum and flayed him alive in his mind. The lack of sleep and constant barrage of problems weren't helping, and well, men his age were known to pudge up a bit. It was the elephant in the room with him, and Belle was willing to bet her favorite book (a tie between Paradise Lost and The Princess and the Spinner, if one was wondering) that that was a big part of it. No matter her protestations to the contrary, Rum already saw himself as old, his ankle constantly putting him on the border of decrepit in his mind when nothing could be farther from the truth.

All in all, it was only fifteen pounds, twenty at most, but to him it meant slowing, aging, and worst of all, slipping ever farther from the standard of perfection he thought she deserved.

He'd been incredibly prickly about it as of late, snapping at her when she asked innocently if he wanted seconds at dinner or if she might help out by replacing the belt he'd said he lost. It hadn't taken much thought to see the problem, especially after she found said belt wedged deep in the garbage one night, hidden with a sense of shame that had tears springing to her eyes.

Days were spent wracking her brain for some way to respectfully and appreciatively broach the issue they were both dancing around, but no good option presented itself. No matter how she tried to show him, Rum's acceptance that she wanted to be with him was tenuous at best, and so easily upset on the best of days with less potent weapons than a comment about his weight.

The most obvious option would be to show him physically, not verbally, but the man who had taken to wearing shame and unworthiness like a second skin had functionally closed off that method too.

After nearly a month of the same script every time they made love, Belle could almost cry.

They'd make their way to the bedroom, and no matter how light the mood not ten minutes before, unease would slowly etch itself into the lines of his face with every step. Once in, door closed, their lips would meet, hers direct and insistent, his distracted, with pressure too light as if waiting for the moment they needed to flee. That moment would come the minute her fingers reached for his jacket, or if he wasn't wearing one, began to undo the buttons of his shirt. He'd duck his head with a mumbled apology, limping for the light and plunging the room, and her hopes with it, into darkness. The irony was not lost on her that when they'd first started making love it had been she turning the lights off, ingrained modesty and years of upbringing forcing her hand. Returning to that life before bravery opened her eyes, returning to relying solely on hearing and touch, and barely the latter at that, had never been so disappointing.

And it wasn't as if having the light off meant everything returned to normal. Oh no.

Undressing was mechanical, and unfortunately an individual affair. Once she was bare and in place on the bed, he'd shimmy down between her legs, conveniently drawing back just outside of reach. Thought was difficult with his mouth, hot and oh so wet, on her pussy and his fingers making tight, insistent swirls against her upper wall, but after she came and he'd calmed her through it, disappointment would spring from the quiet entreaties that followed – _please turn over, love, raise your hips, darling may I, oh god sweetheart you feel so_…

He was always behind her now, making as little contact as possible and depriving her of any opportunity to return the favor of the roaming, squeezing, maddening touch that could work such miracles. Rum would knead her thighs and ass, her breasts (their favorite place, and such a cruel thing to waste) impossible unless he draped himself across her, as she hoped every night he might. Any plea for him to do so or vain attempt to coax him against her was met with a stuttering "Belle, I-I can't, I'm sorry," and likely as not would remind him anew of every way he felt he could not please her, and have him softening inside her before two minutes had passed. That was a dangerous spiral of performance anxiety she didn't want to come within miles of ever again.

So her breasts went untouched, though her own hands were pitiful in the shadow of the memory of his. Belle could hear his throaty moans, the hoarseness in his voice as he begged her, thanked her, but her hands were kept flat on the bed. The only cool silk they were allowed to feel was that of the sheets, not the skin she missed so desperately.

When he wasn't behind her, he had her on top, holding her cleanly and surely away from everything he was trying to hide. In the dark it was detached, lacking the touch that communicated so much. He'd catch her questing fingertips and bring them back to his shoulders or hips with a regretful kiss to the pad of her thumb, the only apology she'd ever get.

Riding him, alone and floating in the darkness, Belle considered everything she missed. He wouldn't lie on top of her or next to her, probably too afraid of letting her feel the stomach that had since grown into a belly, one that had overtaxed some of his smaller trousers (tossed uncharacteristically messily into the back of the closet, she'd noticed, larger sizes resignedly taking their place). Being pulled flush against him, feeling his weight distributed from her thighs to shoulders, the tight closeness of wrapping her arms under his to play across his back; all were sensations that were lost, their memory poor comfort. It was an ache, sitting just under her breastbone, the mourning of something that was still so very much alive if only he would make it so. She longed to suckle his nipples again, knowing how sensitive they were, feeling him writhe and moan under her relentless tongue. Touching his chest was out of the question now when he had his way, as if somehow the slightly fuller flesh of his pectorals would negate everything she felt.

It was for this reason she cherished the few times he'd been too distracted to catch her hands. She'd brought them down his thicker sides and to his belly, delighted by the softness of the flesh there and how much more of it there was. She wanted to kiss and lick from his nipples to his middle, pressing her nose and fingers to each wonderful inch and feeling it yield. The smattering of hair near his belly button would tickle her chin, and she'd lick all around his deepening navel, nibbling and sucking dark red signatures onto the pale canvas of his skin. She'd lower her lips to his cock and grip his thighs, meatier than the twigs he'd had before, seeing the curve of his belly rising in front of her. Her tongue would flit and flutter and lick and still she'd suck, hollowing her cheeks and feeling him giving in, happy and content and self-confident and sure that she loved and wanted him no matter what.

Belle came violently at the image, shuddering and grinding down onto him, bringing forth cries and hasty pleas of "oh fuck _yes_ sweetheart, _yes_" from the man beneath her. Hanging almost limp, his cock still twitching and warm within her, she couldn't say she knew where those desires had come from, but she was beyond happy they'd made themselves known.

After that night, she became even more aware of it, all of it, and of her increasing desire to leave no doubt in his mind that she appreciated every inch. She'd never given much thought to her body preferences before, and even now she couldn't tell what had always been there and what was just the usual bottomless lust her husband inspired. Not only did the images fail to shock, but she eagerly returned to them again and again, elaborating and thinking of new scenarios to send her hurtling towards completion whenever they came together.

She wanted Rum to sit nearly in her lap, so she could encircle him from behind and lay her hands on his belly, feel the heft and weight of it, pressing her breasts into his back and sucking eagerly on his neck. From what she could discern through his clothes and from many hugs, it wouldn't be hard, a potbelly perhaps but not like that of a drunk. No her certainly approving fingers had felt it to be flatter, fleshier, more inclined to rolls than to stick out, though it certainly did that some too. One hand would rub and squeeze – and here the sudden rush of heat had her squeezing around his cock, leaving him breathless and gasping and begging her to fall with him – and the other would crawl to his nipples, plucking and rolling the little buds until his cock leaked against the very body he so hated. Then and only then would she take him in one hand, pumping tight and excruciatingly slow as she revealed how much she wanted him, would always want him. If he wanted to take her after that, it would be with the lights on, once she'd crawled to straddle his lap, face to face and everything revealed and touching between them.

Belle wanted him to enjoy his body, not just enjoy himself in spite of it. She wanted him to enjoy it as much as she did.

The thought never failed to make her come.

* * *

When two months had passed since she regained her memories and his self-esteem had only continued to plummet, plans seriously began to take shape.

The more she thought about it, the more Belle had realized the situation at hand was closer to a journey than a goal-oriented operation. One day wouldn't fix the problem, but it certainly required one_ night _to begin the process. As long as it had taken to build up the complexes, it would take even longer to dismantle them and soothe the scars they left, like fertile earth slowly reclaiming the brutal tracks left by war machines. Belle needed him comfortable in his skin if he was ever going to be comfortable with the idea of her touching him again – or maybe it was the other way around? Either way, the matter remained that he was certainly neither at the moment.

She couldn't even remember the last time she'd seen him without clothes. For the weeks they'd shared before circumstances had conspired to keep them apart, they'd gotten changed in the room together; those mornings she awoke in his bed as charged as any night spent there. She'd admire his grace and the deftness that came of routine as he added every layer with expert care, each inch of skin she longed to taste disappearing beneath this world's fine black fabric.

Now though, he was always fully dressed by the time she left the shower. Armor locked and in place, she supposed it gave him a shred of comfort, however false. At night it was removed in the dark by his hands, the light only on when she was safely downstairs.

Tonight, that was going to change.

Her True Love stood in front of the bureau by the time she slipped inside the bedroom, gazing perfunctorily at the mirror propped above it. A dour expression deepened the lines scoring his brow and the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, but for all the blackness clouding his features, his profile could still take her breath away.

Looking but choosing not to see, his hands jerkily stumbled through the motions of untying the double windsor at his throat. The jackets that had once celebrated his lean frame were looking smaller by the day, pulled tight across his torso and clinging like sausage casings to gradually thickening upper arms. Stealing behind him, she let her hands run down his arms slowly on the pretext of removing wrinkles, the flesh beneath the jacket soft and yielding. Unable to resist, she squeezed experimentally, a familiar heat igniting beneath her ribs.

He stiffened.

Unperturbed, she ran her hands back up to his shoulders and around to his chest. Holding his widened eyes in the mirror, she unpicked what remained of the silk knot at his throat, looping thumb and index finger in a way that made his jaw clench. Awkwardly poised over his sternum, his hands followed suit. When her fingertips finished their work, she gently ghosted them over his chin and neck, teasing the softening jawline there with loving care. He had shaved this morning, Belle recalled, his skin still soft and mostly smooth, faintly smelling like the expensive cologne they'd picked out together. His pulse beat a wild tattoo under her fingertips.

Under her thumb, his adam's apple bobbed shakily. "Belle, what are _oh_-"

Replacing the pad of her finger with something infinitely softer, she placed a slow, wet kiss just above his starched collar. The skin under her lips tasted as divine as he smelled. Belle watched intoxicated for a moment as his mouth fell open, before returning to the reflection of his gaze.

_I feel you. I see you. See me, seeing you. And you're wonderful. _As if the thought might jump from her brain to his, she willed it so.

"You know I can't resist you." Doing her best to swallow any lingering modesty, she let her eyes rake over his reflection. It wasn't hard to let the appreciation show on her face. "Especially not like this."

As the Dark One, he had been a master of language. One wouldn't have known that at the moment, however, his mouth parting slightly as madeira colored eyes were riveted to her movements. In burgeoning desire, Belle hoped, and gently worked to remove the jacket from his surprisingly cooperative shoulders.

The loss of that barrier appeared to snap him from whatever trance he had fallen into. He almost seemed to draw further into himself, watching with a somewhat hunted expression as she laid the jacket on the dresser and returned to her post.

"Thank you, love," he said, his voice unsteady. He cleared his throat, and tried again. "But why don't you go pick the film. I'll just be a moment, yeah?"

In reality, Belle had had no intention of acting upon their supposed movie night when she suggested it. It merely gave her the opportunity she had been seeking, and to be honest, anticipating. Not wanting to spook him further, her fingers lazily traced their way back down his chest, stopping at the first of the waistcoat buttons. Small fingers popped it open, and then another, not missing the strain it was under or how eagerly it followed her slight direction.

Waistcoat now split limply to the sides, Belle took a moment to caress the line of cobalt buttons revealed underneath from collarbone to navel. The lower ones gapped ever so slightly as they pulled across the widest part of him, unnoticeable under the vest but quite obvious without it. Pausing there for a moment, her touch as light as a fairy's kiss, she couldn't help but marvel at the solidness, the reality of him, and she craved to pull him flush against her.

Gods above, they hadn't done this in _so long_.

Belatedly, her brain prompted that she should probably answer.

Fighting the urge to slip a fingertip between two of the fastenings, Belle purred conspiratorially, "I know, but I figure I can help. I haven't in a while, Rumple, and I've missed it."

With desire slowly suffusing and clouding her head, she was running out of ideas. What once had been guaranteed to drive him wild now only seemed to add to the tightness of his features, lips curling in something that was too pained to be a smile.

Pressing her breasts closer to his back, she nipped at his neck again. His eyes closed at the sensation for a moment, a soft intake of air meeting her ears. Taking it as maybe the first good sign, Belle started to chip away at the column of buttons, regrettably unable to kiss and focus on releasing the uppermost two at the same time. A little distracted by the delicious swathe of skin revealed, the tension trembling in his shoulders reminded her with a dull thud in her chest that this was supposed to be about _him_.

A tiny step backward was all it took to break the seal she had made between their bodies. It was also enough to clear the tunnel vision that had singularly guided her actions, no matter how good her intentions.

What was he fond of saying – right, that intent was meaningless. Never was it more true than looking at the love of her life with lips thinned into a grim line, eyes closed so as not to face the reality staring back at him in the mirror. In all her dreams, this wasn't how she envisioned her seduction happening. They always included his reciprocated desire, awoken once more by her eager touch and effusive praise, not the resigned and self-loathing tableau she had just moments ago inspired. Belle had no doubts that were she to lower her hand and slip it beneath his trousers, she would find him soft.

As much as she had hopes and naive fantasies of having her way with him until he no longer harbored such insecurities, life was more complicated than that. He had a say as well, and just because his fears weren't true, didn't mean she wanted to disregard the way he felt.

Ultimately, and it was so simple she could cry, it came down to _honesty_. There was no forcefully dragging him to conclusions he was too embarrassed to see. There was only her opening her heart and her body, and allowing him to see for himself, if he wished, in his own time. All she could do was be supportive and be honest, and whether or not he wanted to change things about their lives, support him there too.

Taking a moment to massage his tense shoulders, Belle gently motioned for him to turn. She met him halfway, so that they were parallel to the mirror and neither needed to look within it.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, and I'm sorry," she began simply.

He half-heartedly waved a hand, appearing more disheveled than she'd seen him in ages with a half-buttoned shirt and open waistcoat. "'Tis no matter."

"Thank you, but we both know that's not exactly true," she returned. Careful fingertips pushed back the strands of greying hair falling across his eyes, ending in a gentle caress to his cheek. "Rumpelstiltskin, there's no need to hide from me. If you'd let me, I'd like to make love tonight… and to keep the light on."

The grimace that had faded slightly at her caress twisted once more, but he didn't turn more than his head away. Amber eyes were locked on the floor. "I'm not sure I'd be comfortable with that. The light, that is."

The statement, obvious and expected, did not replace the unspoken truth stretching solid and humming between them. Still Belle wanted nothing more than to get it in the open, without the endless guessing game of putting words in his mouth. "Why not?"

His gaze flicked upward at that, whether more in surprise or growing annoyance, she could not ascertain. The slightest flash of his tongue came to quickly wet his lips. "Surely you've noticed, or else we wouldn't be talking. Please don't make me say it."

Though his voice was low, the current of distress lurking underneath was hard to miss. Deliberating how to avoid making him defensive, but maintaining the truth, she replied calmly, "I mean, yes, I've noticed that you've gained a few pounds–"

Her words cut off at his bark of laughter.

"A few? No, _a few_ would have been fine. This," he gestured sharply to his stomach, a sneer pulling at his lip, "this is not a few, love."

Focusing on words was one of his coping mechanisms in conflict, and though he'd abandoned it with her recently, the issue clearly had him hurting enough to fall back on it. Knowing that sugarcoating wouldn't be appreciated, Belle sought his hands with her own and squeezed. Rum waited impatiently for an answer, but did not let go.

"Ok," she conceded quietly, "It's maybe more than a few. But, Rumple, I –"

"– How much do you think?"

Belle blinked. "What?"

Looking down at their hands, he grit out, "How much do you think I've gained?"

"I really don't know. Nor do I think it matters."

"Guess."

A sigh pried its way from her mouth. "I don't know…twenty?"

His lips moved, but she had to strain to hear the soft whisper. "More than that."

Raising his hands to her mouth, she bestowed a kiss to the back of both. His gaze, unreadable and closely guarded, followed her movements. Wanting him to speak further, she tried, "And what about that bothers you?"

When no answer was forthcoming, one glance at his face was enough for her to envision the excuses for why the conversation should end ricocheting in his brain. Still, as the seconds passed and he did not walk, Belle took heart in the knowledge that at least _some _part of him wanted to discuss the issue.

Hoping to give him a place to start and assuage one of his fears, Belle dove right into it. She cracked a small smile, trying to convey the sharing of their experience.

"Sweetheart, if this is about _us_, I am in no way bothered. It's a part of life. It happens to plenty of people, men and women – probably me too someday. It doesn't matter."

"You keep saying that, Belle. Of course it matters. It matters to _me._" He tugged his hands away, their agitated dance accompanying the strained rush of words.

Unable to argue with that, and a little worried that she was stumbling into the very trap she had foreseen weeks ago, she tried to keep his feelings and perspective foremost in her mind. Her mouth went dry, the discussion having gone much different than she intended. "Is that because of your own personal reasons or because you think it will change my attraction to you?"

"Both," he expelled in a huff, though the vitriol probably wasn't directed at her. "I'm already shocked you wanted me before. I've seen what happens when that changes. I'm not going to chain you to me and watch your desire shrivel up if I get heavier or…"

Trailing off, he clamped down on whatever he'd been about to say, his jaw nearly grinding with the effort.

Her heart breaking, Belle could guess at the words he'd struggled to keep inside. Weaker, older, the endless list of concepts she knew dogged his steps on his bad days. Those she couldn't do anything about, not yet, but this at least she could.

"Would you be surprised to know that maybe, I _like_ you like this? That it, it," she fumbled for Lacey's vocabulary, still lodged in her brain and sounding funny on her tongue, "turns me on?"

Whatever he'd been about to say left him, his face going blank as he processed her words. Mouth opened in a silent _oh_, his eyebrows rose towards his hairline. He shook his head slowly.

"Well it does," she added, smiling sheepishly. In a bit of selfish relief, she couldn't deny it felt _good_ to finally tell him.

After a moment or two passed, the surprise crumpled into a pensive, almost unhappy expression. His mouth opened in a few false starts, but Rum finally seemed to pluck the words he wanted from somewhere, albeit they came reluctantly. "Well, that is. Yes. I appreciate it, Belle… Really. I do."

It was his turn to reach for her, slowly cradling her face with a kind of sadness that had her unconsciously moving closer. Belle leaned into his touch, afraid that he had come to the exact wrong conclusion.

"But, love, only truth between us, remember?" He begged, swiping his thumb across her cheek and sending a proverbial spike through her heart. "If you're trying to spare me – don't, sweetheart. You're too good to me. I just want you to be happy, and with someone who is…"

"Who is what?"

He looked down, his hands retracting from her face. She caught them before they fell to his sides, cupping them between her own.

"Deserving of you."

Smiling sadly, she tried to pack everything she felt into the simple words, "Then it's a good thing I'm with you."

All vehemence long gone, Rum sighed, a gusty, exhausted rush of air that carried with it tales of more years than she'd ever know.

"I want to be, but I'm not, Belle. I'm old, and tired, and a coward. For centuries I've had almost everything under control. But now, even with magic here," he took a moment to breathe, and the words almost didn't come out, "things are getting away from me, no matter what I do. I try to keep you safe, and I can't. I try to know Bae, and I can't. And any action I take just seems to make it worse. All of it. My son, my grandson, the town, Regina… and now my own _body, _as if it didn't betray me enough before_."_

Acknowledging how difficult it was for him to say, and suddenly at a loss for words herself, all Belle could muster was a nod and a watery smile. This was something that deserved many long conversations, and no doubt they would have them. The unwilling, crippling loss of control had been eroding him from the inside out, and his weight had solidified itself in his mind as the very embodiment of it; personal reasons indeed. Stepping closer, she slipped her arms around him and hugged tightly.

"I am safe now, and knowing Bae will come with time. It isn't the end, and you haven't lost all control. You know you don't have to deal with everything alone anymore, we'll face it. Together."

His arms came around her, and though her head rested against his shoulder, she could feel the cautious hope. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Belle couldn't be sure how long they embraced, simply enjoying the other's presence, but his breathing eventually returned to normal and his hands began to whisper gently against her back. Every so often, a kiss would press against her hair.

After some moments, he asked quietly, "Did you mean what you said? About liking it?"

"Absolutely. I will love you and want you at _any_ size."

"Even now?"

Smiling, she pulled away just enough to see his face. "Especially now."

A small answering grin quirked the corner of his mouth, but she could practically see his armor in pieces around him. His hands released her to slide up and down her arms, words hesitantly following. "I'm willing to reconsider the idea of the light."

He was raw and open, but it could be the best time to prove to him that nothing had changed between them. "Really?"

Belle could tell the moment he made his decision. The slight swallow. The breath drawn deeply in through his nose. A single nod. And then, a little shaky at first, he said, "Yeah. But, darling, just the one lamp."

"Thank you," she breathed. Maybe with its light, he might see.

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

Only a single click, a twitch of the fingers really, was needed to switch off the lamp to the right of the bed. It seemed only fitting that she extinguish the light on her side, leaving his the sole source of illumination in the room. Its warm glow diffused into the shadows, neither strong nor weak, but perfect for their purposes. _Mood lighting_, a part of her prompted, and the thought coaxed a small smile as she made her way back to him.

Hands fidgeting in front of him, she couldn't help but marvel at the emotion he radiated. There was no mask, no artifice, only a maelstrom of anxiety and love and something that looked suspiciously like a tentative flicker of hope fighting to stay alive inside it all. With any luck, that hope would flourish to drown out his unease, and Belle winged a prayer up to whoever might be listening that she wouldn't spoil the opportunity he had parted with so dearly.

Laying a hand against his chest, her fingers itched to resume the work she'd abandoned, but a small voice of reason rejected the idea. They crept upwards instead, pale against the cornflower wrinkles in his shirt, to hide in the grey-flecked hair falling over the nape of his neck. Stepping into the circle of his arms, the slight pressure of her touch brought him close enough to leave an unhurried kiss on the corner of his mouth.

A pause of shared breath, one crystalline perfect moment where _in _blurred into _out_, and her lips were on his almost before she'd registered the decision, undemanding now in contrast to her earlier zeal. Sipping kisses at first, unspoken offerings of _love you_and _thank you_ exchanged in faint electrical impulses only their hearts would recognize. When he interrupted the easygoing rhythm to suck at her upper lip, the hunger belied in the tightening of his hold on her hip spurred the coil of a very different sort of spark low in her stomach.

Together. They would do this together.

Lips separating with a wet pop, the instinctive flash of his tongue as he sought to capture the last of her taste almost chased words from her mind. With a light tug on the forgotten vest, Belle recouped her wits and entreated shakily, "Help me, Rumple._Please_."

The breath left her lungs to be taken in by his, slightly faster than minutes before. Her body missed his heat the moment he pulled away, and for a moment she worried he might not return, but it was only to remove the waistcoat and drop it in a puddle on the dresser. In seconds Belle was again wrapped in loving arms, the uncertainty tainting his flickering would-be smile completely at odds with the growing confidence the effort had inspired in her. Rising on tiptoe, she captured his lips with gusto, the hand fisted in his hair grounding them both.

She was content to stand there and kiss for as long as he wanted, lost in the river of sensations his tongue could produce. So used to being the one to initiate things of late, it came as a surprise to feel his hand slowly entwine with hers on his shoulder, and affection blossomed into wonder as a moment later, he brought them to rest on the first of the buttons yet fastened. Kiss stuttering briefly, her eyes flew open only to see his still resolutely screwed shut. A squeeze spoke _thank you_ before her other hand left his hair and joined its twin, nimbly finishing the work they'd started. One button, then another, and another; slow enough to avoid the feel of an attack but fast enough to avoid prolonging any discomfort. Until now a quiet simmer, her excitement to see him, _really _see him again, flared hot under her skin.

Breaking the kiss as the last of the buttons gave way, Belle was relieved to see her love as out of breath as she. Lungs expanded and deflated rapidly, though whether more in desire or anxiety, she could only guess. Unable to quite meet her eyes, Rumplestiltskin's fingers twitched by his side, index and thumb rubbing in a way she knew comforted him, grounded him, meant to distract from the wide swathe of skin bared by the gap in his last armored layer.

Still, he didn't make to cover himself, and with every twitch that revealed the thought to have crossed his mind, Belle could not have been more proud. Her True Love was braver than he ever gave himself credit; only a respect for the moment kept her from remarking so aloud.

Not wanting him to feel exposed or scrutinized, she kept close, but refused to hide the enthusiasm naked in her features. Let him _see_, she thought, see and enjoy what otherwise he would miss under the cover of darkness. See pupils blown wide as fingertips gently pushed the button-up from his shoulders. The quickening rise and fall of her chest as his was bared inch by inch, appreciative fingers slipping down his arms to chase the fabric from skin she longed to feel against her own. One arm free, then the other, the shirt hit the floor.

The light on the nightstand was more forgiving than the one overhead, but its glow left little to the imagination. Without clothes, his torso was broader than she expected, and her first thought was that Rum looked more like the noblemen she'd seen growing up than the peasant he must have been. What once had only been touch memory in the dark resolved itself into a thicker waist and lovehandles that begged to be nibbled, his belly bulging soft and heavy over the support of his waistband. He had buttoned his trousers under its curve, the fabric creasing what could only be uncomfortably from being pushed into such a position.

Unable to stop herself, she trailed her fingers through the sparse hair at his navel. The sensation, so long a fixture of fantasies, charmed a grin to spread across lips longing to press where fingers now danced. With any luck he would enjoy that, she reflected inwardly, her eyes drinking in his body on the path upwards to meet his stare. Lust was new to the mix there, darkening his eyes and helping to smooth some of the lines fear brought out near his mouth. But still it was hope, fragile and honest, that soothed her most of all.

How he could ever think she would find fault was beyond her. To her, having fallen in love with a man gold-green and scaled, this was just one more change, and hardly one as drastic. If thin gold-flecked lips had whispered b_eautiful_ over and over the first time they had made love instead of those now flushed from her kisses, would the perfection of the moment have been diminished? Not likely. Belle moved to stroke the flesh on his sides, and when the light scratch of her nails just above the top of his waistband coaxed a shiver, she could only breathe one word:

"Beautiful."

Some of the tension went out of him at the statement, his shoulders and neck no longer rigid with barely disguised worry. A sad little laugh sneaked between his lips, no doubt at the memento of their first night, and his gaze fell once more from hers. "You can't mean that, love. But I thank you."

"I do," she replied simply, knowing that words alone would not suffice. A little bolder, she traced over the fuller flesh of his chest, and his gaze locked on to where one finger slowly circled a pert nipple. His nostrils flared with an indrawn breath. "Let me show you?"

Swallowing, he tore his eyes away from her ministrations, and it was his turn to level her with a single word, "_Please_."

His tone tugged at some thread inside her, sending shockwaves from her thudding heart to her core. A little shaken, she managed, "I'm going to need your help with the dress."

Tweaking the bud she'd teased, Belle gave herself a second to enjoy his gasp before slowly turning. After being deprived of it for so long, no matter how self-inflicted, Belle wanted him to undress her, a privilege he treasured. Peeling back layer after layer to worship her flesh beneath always left his hands trembling.

They trembled even now, especially now, as calloused fingertips swept aside her hair in a tender caress and alighted upon the cool metal of the zipper. It clicked faintly as he dragged it downwards, parting the two halves once the metal reached its end and needing only a weak push to drop the garment to the floor. She shivered as the air hit her exposed back, but the reverent touch of his hands against her spine took away some of the chill.

Like brands, his eyes trailed across her skin, and Belle didn't require magic to know his attention was captivated by the thin lace spanning her hips and back. Lacey had imparted an understanding of lingerie, and while Belle found herself without an affinity for the racier pieces, the knowledge came in handy as she'd selected the outfit earlier that afternoon. The rich claret color suited her style, worlds away from Lacey's blacks and blues, and when she turned to face him, the surprise of the bra's sheerness hinting at what it contained was enough to silence the words he'd seemingly planned.

"You like it?"

"More than anything," he whispered, unable to stop his gaze from sliding to her bust.

Plucking at the lace on her hips, she tried to hold her voice steady and said, "Look now, because I'm not keeping this on. I want you to feel me, feel everything. And then you'll know, sweetheart." Staring into his eyes, she slowly lowered the fabric, steeling herself against modesty when gravity took over and left her bare.

Rum choked at the sight, reaching for her almost unconsciously before seeming to think better of it.

"Gods, Belle… I…"

The plea trailed off with a soft puff of air, gaze fondling the curls once covered by silk in ways hands refused to. Despite the hope he might pull her against him, as his muscles clearly screamed to, his hands merely hovered over the pale skin of her hips and torso, enough to keep her from stepping closer when she tried. They lightly grazed flesh where the urge to rub, knead, memorize every centimeter with his palms stood out in the shaking of his forearms, desire held in check by the latent worry that seeing was one thing, bad enough, but to _feel _him –

The thoughts telegraphed across his features, and Belle wanted nothing more than to put a stop to them.

Leaving the bra on, a little treat for when the time came to take it off, she coaxed him backwards, taking some of his weight as they stumbled the few steps to the bed. His ankle would feel it in the morning, she reflected with an inward wince, but as the back of his knees hit the mattress and he obeyed her direction, sinking into its embrace, it seemed the pain was the farthest thing from his mind.

Peering upwards, he grasped instinctively at her waist, his firmer grip in counterpoint to the caress that swept aside the fringes of hair nearly falling into his eyes. They closed and he leaned into the touch, and Belle took the moment to observe with impunity. His trousers bunched in such a way as to hide the bulge she'd hoped to find there, if it existed at all, but the way his stomach rolled over the waistband, starting from his back and thickening as it reached his front, arrested her gaze before she could truly determine. The sudden spike of _want_ crested, hot and shivery, both tempered and enflamed by the warm amber disks now open and blinking upwards at her.

"You're so handsome," she breathed. "I've been dreaming about this all day."

"Yeah?"

A little more certain, he didn't stop her as she straddled his lap, not quite pressing where she wanted to most. The juxtaposition of fabric against her thighs and even smoother flesh against her arms where they looped around his neck was intoxicating. His belly almost brushed hers, and when she scooted forward to bring herself against his still clothed cock, it pushed flush against her own.

Tension still hummed in every fiber of his being, and she started slow again with soft kisses, letting him get used to the feeling of having his arms full again. He deepened them after a moment, and she could tell when he began to let go and enjoy the kiss for the unconditional thing it was.

Giving in to desire, she glided over his shoulders and chest, the firm muscle exposed in the first still present even in the second, just with a bit more give. Her fingers played over his nipples, rubbing and circling in a way that had his breath quickening and pulled quiet moans from his throat. Aware of how delicate things were, Belle didn't try to reach anything else, no matter how much she longed to touch his thighs or stomach again. His arms were tight around her.

Kisses left his mouth to trail down his neck, alternating between teasing licks and rougher bites. Harsh gasps left his mouth with each firm suck on the flesh between her lips, and when she ground against his lap, Belle could have laughed from relief to feel him there, hardening against her thigh.

"I miss this," she said breathlessly, taking a break from lavishing his neck, "Missed you."

"I did too, love," he whispered, words that faded into a groan as she rocked against his still clothed erection beneath her. The sensation of his trousers against sensitive folds was incredible, and while for a second she worried for the ruin of his pants, his small countercircles and thrusts upward meant he clearly wasn't.

It had been two months, more really, since they'd done anything like this, and the way his eyes kept fluttering closed spoke to the same sensory overload she felt building within herself. Rum kneaded the flare of her waist with more force than she could remember, almost barely conscious of the way he brought her against him. Her lover was a passionate man, docile and ardent by turns in bed, and the return of both halves of him was like seeing the sun after so long locked away.

When his hands came to fondle her breasts through the restriction of her bra, Belle grabbed one and interlocked their fingers. "You need to feel something," she purred into his ear, bringing their joined hands to her core and slowly releasing his fingers.

"Feel that, Rum?" Her lip snuck between her teeth as he teased her folds with a single finger, the arm about her waist crushing her to him loosening ever so slightly.

Awe was written plainly in the slackness of his jaw, wide eyes scrutinizing her face so as to not miss any of the pleasure flickering across it. When she bucked against his hand, trying to speed up his motions, and instead brushed against his cock, those eyes snapped shut and he all but melted against her. "You've never been so wet, dear_gods_," he moaned, and combined with the slow teasing around her opening, it sent shockwaves rippling down her body.

Raising herself onto her knees to give him better access, she forced her sigh to become words. She loved seeing this, seeing him unravel and uncaring that every inch of them was pressed together. "That's all because of you, sweetheart. There's no faking it, you know that."

He nodded, tucked under her chin, and pressed needy wet kisses against her neck. His middle finger, now joined by index and ring, swept through the wetness that was quickly forming. To her frustrated approval, they refused to speed up. Forward and backward, forward and backward, agonizingly slow and gentle.

She extracted herself from the jigsaw like fit after a moment, leaning close to suck on the lobe of his ear. Her hair spilled over his shoulder and neck, and he whimpered at the competing sensations when she mouthed against his skin, "I want you, and I'm just going to get wetter and wetter the more I see of you, the more I touch you."

Leaving off the part that his expert hands would also play a role, she felt his relief and courage as if they surged through her own body as the last of the tension left his shoulders. Belle took it as an okay to resume touching, and though his hands played with the complex folds of her pussy and hers followed the curve of his belly, sweeping up and down his sides as love handles pushed over the waistband, she couldn't say which touch was more private and dearly given.

To her delight, Rum seemed to enjoy her ministrations, her pressure too firm to be tickling as she stroked flesh longing for her attention for who knew how long. When she finally reached for the button straining in front, he took hold of the clasp of her bra.

Mouths fusing in a kiss dominated by teeth and tongue, they unbuttoned at the same time.

Their mouths separated with a wet sound, obscene and perfect, Belle climbing off so he could remove his pants and boxers more easily. He shimmied out of them as best as he could, clumsy from ankle and position, and she seated herself behind him to wrap him in her arms when he finished. Breasts pushing into his back, she licked in long swathes over the patchworked skin of his neck, admiring the roses sown by her eager mouth that would fade to irises and asters come morning.

"This was one of my favorite fantasies," Belle confessed, indulging herself by slipping two fingers into her mouth before bringing them to his right nipple. "It never failed to make me come."

He pushed into her hand, barely managing, "Tell me."

The statement, as much plea as command, made her ache. Swallowing down any lingering self-consciousness, Belle let her mind's imaginings fuse with the motions of her body. Her tone tried for coy, but came out almost strained. "I'd suck on your neck, like I was, and my right hand would tease your nipples, I know how you love it…"

She tightened her hold on him, pausing a moment to nibble just under his ear. "And my left would rub and stroke," her hand followed the direction of her words, moving down to cup his belly which sagged slightly without the support of his trousers. Her knuckles brushed against the base of his cock, bobbing temptingly with little shivers at her words, and a grunt came from low in his throat.

"I tell you how much I want you, love you," Belle took a breath, determined to say the last part no matter how embarrassing she thought it was or how funny the word sounded in her mouth, "and I liked to imagine that, that precum would drip from your cock onto my hand."

The gasp Rum let out at her confession was the best answer she could have received, made only better by the moan on its heels and the sudden shift of his body in her arms. He gently pulled her half into his lap, muttering brokenly, "The things I want to do when you say such things, Belle, you can't even imagine."

"You could always –"

_Try me _was lost to a low cry as he suckled her breasts like a babe, gentle nibbles interspersed with full licks making her toes curl. One hand supported her back in the contorted position as the other pinched her forgotten breast, but her own could do nothing but let his hair run through her fingers and hold his head where it was.

A nibble that was more of a bite ripped a cry from her throat, and the moisture pooling between her thighs begged her to hurry up. Tugging on his hair drew his head back, saliva still glistening on her skin and on his lips, and she couldn't resist ducking her head to capture his mouth for one long drag.

Parting, Belle took in the flush of his face and the darkness of his pupil all but devouring the brown around it. Her voice brooking no argument, she said, "Lie back, love."

With some effort, he did just that, using arms stronger than they looked to push himself closer to the headboard. He leaned back against the pillows propped at the head, and Belle was dismayed to see an echo of old worry flitting briefly across his face as he unfurled completely, revealing everything to her gaze.

Stalking closer on hands and knees, she straddled his thighs and licked her lips unconsciously at the view. There were red lines scoring the pale skin of his torso from his trouser waistband, and, bending over his eager cock, her lips sought them out in empathy, not pity. If he was wearing the wrong size out of pride, she made a mental note to change it.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" She sucked at the flesh of his stomach, her gaze flicking up to hold his. He didn't respond, and Belle was reminded with a jolt how much it crazed him to watch her touch him, seeing her touch his nipples, thighs, cock.

Her time as Lacey had expanded her vocabulary of this world's slang and more sordid terms, and she found some slipping out without meaning to. "Absolutely sexy is what you are."

He grinned, a little shy for all that they were doing, and she burned into her memory the moment his eyes closed with a hiss as her breasts brushed his twitching cock. Intrigued by the avalanche of new ideas, Belle wrapped her hand around the straining length of it, pumping in time with his pained moans.

The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"Want to try something different?"

His eyes snapped open, and he shook his head vigorously. "_Yes yes yes_. Do whatever pleases you, Belle."

Grinning in what she hoped was a sultry manner, more for his benefit than hers, she cupped her breasts in her small hands and watched him stare as if it was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. No matter that she was bent over clumsily, or the flesh in her palms wasn't as large as perhaps she'd like. Rum looked at her as he would a goddess.

"I'm a little more interested in what pleases _you_, right now," she replied with a cheek she couldn't contain, running one of her nipples up the vein that ran on the underside of his cock.

Whether from the sight or the sensation, he panted, breathing out "Do that again" in an accent so thick she could barely understand. Humoring him, she decided to one up the movement, her curiosity blending with desire and the love of seeing him, spread out and open, all for her.

Using her hands to hold her breasts together, she slid his cock inelegantly between them. The burning skin was like silk against the delicate valley of her _tits_, as Lacey supplied, and while she couldn't move very vigorously, it didn't seem to matter. Lube would have helped, as would having a bigger bust, but the wrecked sounds he was making as he pressed his head against the pillows belied any problem with the arrangement.

The beauty of it was all in the display: her touching herself and him, taking the time to flick a nipple here and there while her fingers made up for the part of his girth her breasts couldn't cover. There was hardly any power in his movements, only instinctual little thrusts that, by his moans and pleas to continue, seemed to be doing more than any pounding he could have given her pussy in the dark.

And the best part of it was, he had to look at his body to see her, but he wasn't _seeing_himself for once. He was, quite simply, _enjoying_ himself.

Precum, beading rapidly at the head, helped to ease her way, and she paused a moment to lap up a small amount. The slightly salty tang was as welcome as she remembered, and on a whim, she swiped a few droplets on her finger and held it out to him. He sucked on her fingertip without hesitation, eyes closing as his tongue curled and caressed her skin.

The movement left her breathless, and if this was even a fraction of how he felt when she laved his cock, Belle could understand the appeal.

Her finger left his mouth with a soft pop, and she was the one to swallow and look away from the heat in his gaze. Her bones feeling like electricity ran rampant within them, she returned to her earlier post. The head of his cock bobbed flushed and aching above his belly, and Belle knew that the lack of true intimacy had been as brutal for him as it was for her.

It wouldn't take long.

Bending down, she accepted him into her mouth, savoring the hoarse cry he couldn't contain. The time for teasing had passed, and she worked him confidently, her hand pumping the base while her cheeks hollowed with each suck around the head.

Before long, he'd begun to babble, his voice broken with pleasure as his hands scrabbled at the comforter. "Yes, Belle, yes, just like that… a little faster, sweetheart. You're so good at this, I can't – I'm so close, love, I'm going to cum."

And with the first blooms of salt on her tongue, he was almost shouting, incoherent combinations of her name and _thank you oh love you_ that nearly drowned her in relief that everything had worked out. She swallowed without a thought.

While he floated down from his high, chest still greedily sucking in air, she crawled up to lie next to him at the head of the bed. Her own unsatisfied longing burned hot and throbbing inside, but she let him lie there and breathe, pressing kisses to her face and whispering the world into her ear. This was about him, had been from the very start, and she had no doubt he would do more than make it up to her - maybe even in thirty minutes, if he was feeling up to it.

Yet as every inch touched between them and his hand crept down to where she needed him most, fingers slipping into her entrance like coming home, Belle realized he was probably still nervous, and tomorrow some of his bravery would have faded.

But for now, she could see everything should she choose to look, and it was beautiful.


End file.
